Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
The worry returns full force, and getting up, I take hold of her hand and pull her closer. Staring down at her, I ask, “You’re not hiding anything from me, are you?”
She shakes her head, a smile curving her lips. “Of course not.”
I lift my other hand to her face and framing her cheek, I lean down and press a tender kiss to her mouth, then I murmur, “You know you can lean on me, right?”
Danny nods, her lips curving more.
“I know you’re used to being this badass independent woman, but you have me now.’
She lets go of my hand and wraps her arms around me, resting her cheek against my chest. “I know.”
I give her a hug and then pull her out of the room to get started with the food.
Chapter 13
DANNY
My stomach is tight with nerves as I sit in the examination room where I’m waiting for Dr. Friedman.
It’s going to be okay.
I haven’t had any other dizzy spells, and the medication has helped with the headaches, so I feel optimistic.
Dr. Friedman comes into the room, and he pulls a chair closer, sitting down right in front of me. “Hi, Danny. How are you feeling?”
“Hi,” I force a smile to my lips. “Not too bad. No dizzy spells and the pain meds help a lot for the headaches.”
“That’s good to hear. Let’s take out those stitches.” He wheels the chair closer, and I sit still while he brushes my hair out of the way and removes the stitches. “There we go. The incision is healing nicely.”
He rolls the chair a little back, and when his eyes meet mine, my stomach bottoms out, and my heart instantly beats faster.
“Isn’t there a loved one you’d like to have here with you today?” he asks.
I shake my head. “What are the results?”
“Okay… so what you have is called Glioblastoma. It’s hard to treat and grows at a rapid pace.”
I just stare at him, not sure what it means for me.
“The tumor has tentacles, which are difficult to remove with surgery because it grows into the surrounding brain. We won’t know how far it’s spread until we go in to look.”
“Okay,” I murmur, still not sure what it means. “Sorry, but what does all of that mean?”
He clears his throat then says, “Glioblastoma is the most aggressive brain cancer, and even with treatment, the average survival is twelve to eighteen months.”
A frown forms on my forehead, the words not sinking in. My voice is tense as I ask, “What are you saying?”
“We can operate, and with radiation and chemotherapy, slow the growth of the tumor, but it will keep coming back. I’ve taken your case to the board at Cedars-Sinai, and they’ve given approval for us to go ahead with a vaccine therapy trial if you agree. There are other trials we can look at, but in my opinion, this one has the highest success rate. In some cases, we’ve been able to prolong life to anything between a year and five years. It’s different with each case.”
Pins and needles spread over my entire body and my insides begin to tremble as I stare at the doctor.
“I understand you want to know how much time you have left, but these things are never easy to predict. One of the positives is that it won’t be a painful death.”
Death.
My mind latches onto the word.
“I’m going to die?” My voice is hoarse as my breathing begins to speed up.
“With the treatment, we can give you some extra time,” he says, empathy softening his tone.
I shake my head. “But you’re telling me I’m going to die. At most, I have five years?” I gasp. “That’s what you’re saying, right?”
Dr. Friedman nods. “I’m sorry, Danny. No one wants this kind of news. We need to focus on what we can do. I’d like to admit you to Cedars-Sinai today and schedule your surgery for forty-eight hours from now.”
“How long will I have if we don’t do the surgery?” I ask, my voice toneless.
“Three to six months.”
I close my eyes as devastation rips through me. Fisting my hands, I try to slow my breathing. My body jerks as I try to contain the sobs. A deep ache spreads through my soul, and I’m filled with a debilitating sense of loss and fear.
Dr. Friedman places his hand on mine. “Do you have someone who can drive you to Cedars-Sinai?”
I shake my head. “I can’t. Not today. My brother’s wedding is on Saturday.”
“You don’t have time to delay the surgery. It’s important we get in there as soon as possible,” Dr. Friedman says, his voice tensing.
I shake my head again. “I’m going to the wedding. I’ll be at Cedars-Sinai on Monday. If I’m going to die, I’m not missing my brother’s wedding.” My voice grows thick, but I push through, “It will probably be the last time my family and friends will be able to gather together for a happy moment before… I’m gone. I’m not taking that away from them.”